Breaking Point (Article 5 #2)(13)
I didn’t even want to say it, much less visualize it. But it was too late. Maybe we all weren’t the best of friends, but I didn’t want to see any of them dead.
“These are the risks we take,” said Wallace simply.
However much I wanted to argue it, he was right.
“We need to double the perimeter guards,” Chase said to Wallace. “Now, before soldiers start digging around the slums and Tent City.”
Wallace slowed to a stop and shook his head, as if waking from a dream.
“Very good, Jennings,” he said.
*
SECURITY was increased, as Chase has recommended. Nearly everyone was cleared from the building, assigned to tasks that secured the safety of our refuge. Just a few were left behind, Billy, Wallace, and me. Even Chase was detailed to the motel lobby.
I’d stayed on the fourth floor, itchy since the report that the sniper was so close. I wanted to do something, too, though I didn’t know what.
Four hours passed with no movement. I listened to the radio reports, which confirmed that four soldiers had been killed by sniper fire from a rooftop overlooking the Square. A riot had flashed only briefly, and nine civilians had died in the crosshairs. I prayed none of them were our people.
In the fifth hour three of our people returned, smelling strongly of sweat and streaked with grime. They hadn’t seen the others, but brought word that the Square had been locked down by soldiers, who’d made everyone lay across the bricks until the rooftops were cleared. Tent City had been overturned in the search.
In the seventh hour Houston and Lincoln came back. They laughed about how crazy it had been. It was a little too forced maybe, but they laughed.
No one said Cara’s name. Not even Billy, who had a hard time keeping his mouth shut.
I grew annoyed with the radio reports. They were running the same message, over and over. The sniper’s tally was up to eleven. The highways had been closed, cutting off access in and out of Knoxville to anyone not working for the FBR. Things had changed—the city, even within the Wayland Inn, felt different.
That night no one said a word at dinner. Not even to complain about the peas, which had gone yellow sometime since they’d been canned.
*
LATER, I would look back on the next morning’s meeting and be able to count a dozen clues that should have made me realize everything was about to change. The way Billy refused to meet my eyes, for instance, or the way Wallace stared at me, lost in thought, and then blew off Riggins when he asked if Cara had called in. The way the radios, which had been covering different channels all night, were all silent.
“Quiet down,” Wallace said. His face was a mixture of awe and concern, like he was surprised about something. It made my stomach tighten involuntarily. Wallace was never surprised about anything.
“It’s Cara,” I heard Lincoln whisper to Houston. His face was ashen, his freckles that much more severe.
“I lost sight of her,” said Houston more to himself than anyone else. “Before the shooting even started.” He swore, angry with himself.
“She does that, man,” said one of the other guys. “Don’t worry about it. Cara follows Cara’s rules. Doesn’t mean anything. She always shows back up.”
I cranked my head toward the guy who’d spoken. Not much taller than me, with a patchy beard and a pointed nose, Sykes they called him.
Wallace lifted the handheld radio. “They started looping a new feed about twenty minutes ago,” he said. “You’re all going to hear it eventually, we might as well get it over with together. As a family.”
The radio hissed with static as he adjusted it to the right frequency.
A familiar male reporter’s voice filled the quiet hall, where the grieving for Cara was threatening to spill over.
“… the Bureau’s office of intelligence has issued a list of five suspects thought to be in collaboration with the sniper. All bases in Region Two-fifteen have orders to post photos of these individuals in the community and offer rations passes in compensation for legitimate leads. A code one is called into effect for the following fugitives:
“John Naser, aka John Wright, religious extremist in violation with Article One. Robert Firth, former FBR captain suspected of selling arms to civilians. Patel Cho, political rights activist who escaped capture during Long Distance Explosive Device demonstrations in Red Zone One.”
I glanced across the hall to Chase, whose expression had gone grim. I hadn’t heard of Long Distance Explosive Devices, but I knew what bombs could do. I’d seen the aftermath on the news as a child.
“Aiden Dewitt, former doctor of medicine, responsible for the murders of five FBR officers during a routine home inspection.”
I remembered Dr. Dewitt. He was from Virginia somewhere and had been all the talk at the soup kitchen about five years ago after news of how he’d flipped out had reached my town. Some of the others were whispering; I guess they’d heard of him, too.
“Ember Miller, responsible for multiple counts of treason, escaped the Knoxville FBR base after faking completion approximately four weeks ago. All suspects should be considered armed and dangerous. Ending report now.”
You could have heard a pin drop the room was so quiet. The FBR reporter went on to say a few more things—roadside patrols were still posted around the city of Knoxville, more information could be found on the mainframe—then his voice faded into static, in much the same way that I wanted to fade into the floorboards of this cheap motel.